Treasure Trail
by fleshflash
Summary: You'd think that constant rejection by every girl you'd ever met for the past five years would eventually tear you down. Brock starts looking at other possibilities - namely, Ash. COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: __So I noticed that there are hardly any gay sex stories for Brock, and that is something I intend to rectify. This will probably be a three-shot, with a slow intro, middle body, and conclusion. I really don't like lemons out of context._

* * *

You'd think that constant rejection by every girl, every woman, every Nurse Joy you'd ever met for the past five years would eventually tear you down.

You'd be right.

Brock huffs in frustration as he shuts himself in the bathroom and spreads shaving cream around the light stubble forming on his square jaw. Seventeen years old, and he's still traveling the world with Ash. Five years of meeting every type of girl possible—ditzy, intelligent, apathetic, energetic, shy, outgoing, athletic, caring, sassy, arrogant—and he's never gone beyond first base.

He's a fucking _breeder_, dammit! He knows how to care for almost every Pokemon species out there; he knows what male species should knock up what female species for the best natures and abilities. So why hasn't he been able to pair up with at least _one_ female?

Well, there was Professor Ivy.

Brock shudders. He still doesn't want to recall that experience.

The rock-type specialist runs the razor quickly through the shaving cream, rinses himself, and inspects the smooth cut in the bathroom mirror. His eyes are drift from the good shave to the rest of his body, permanently defined by a tan complexion that makes his features stand out especially well in the morning sunlight streaming in through the window. His wide shoulders descend into thick biceps and bulging pectoral muscles; his dark nipples always poke through the worn orange shirt he's had since the beginning of his adventure with Ash, and every abdominal muscle in his six pack shows. A treasure trail of light black hair leads down from his belly button down into his brown cargos.

Nobody's ever gone down the treasure trail, though. Despite every mile he's walked, flown, or swam with Ash and whatever underage female companion they've picked up in this region, Brock has never reached the point of revealing the treasure at the end of the trail.

Two hard knocks on the door. "Brock?" a voice whines. "You've been in there for fifteen minutes! I really need to go to the bathroom."

That's Ash, the fifteen year old boy Brock's spent five years traveling with. They've been through thick and thin, bashing in Rocket plans and saving the world at least three times. They've spent so much time together, they're practically brothers. They pretty much know each other inside out: Brock knows that Ash likes his food hot and spicy, and Ash knows that, when Brock's been denied by another girl, it's best to give him a ton of money from the budget and let him splurge it on gourmet food ingredients.

Brock feels like the two of them are almost at opposite ends of the spectrum. Ash attacks first and thinks later; he's rash, hotheaded, adventurous, and a natural leader. Brock, on the other hand, would rather analyze the situation first before taking action; he keeps his cool under pressure and would rather follow and support his friends.

Also, Brock unfortunately has the tendency to fall for every beautiful lady (seemingly) available, which Ash... well, let's say that it seems like his only goal is to become the world's greatest Pokemon master, and Brock just wants somebody to love.

Brock's never seen Ash ogle at a girl, not even once. That leaves—

"Brock!" Ash yells louder. "Are you overthinking again?"

Brock starts. Yes. Yes, he was thinking. "Hold your panties," he growls, searching his dirty laundry bag for a relatively clean orange shirt. Damn, he forgot to do the laundry last night. "I'm almost done."

"I've been waiting for hours!" Ash practically moans.

"Liar," Brock laughs. "You just said fifteen minutes."

Ash huffs. "Fine, if you're just going to tease me—" The doorknob squeals as Ash jerks the door open.

The two pause awkwardly for a second. Brock's still searching in his bag for a shirt, and Ash has one hand on the doorknob while the other hand is cupped around his crotch.

Ash's eyes stare blankly, not at Brock's face, but at his exposed body. "I thought you locked the door," Ash eventually says stupidly.

Likewise, Brock also can't take his eyes off Ash—but for different reasons: Ash is still gripping his crotch through his pajama pants. In most ways, Ash is still very much the ten-year old boy he was when Brock first met him; the younger boy probably doesn't realize how awkward his current position is, even if he really has to pee. "I thought I locked the door too," Brock replies.

Ash scampers over to the toilet and stands there threateningly. "If you don't leave right now, I'm just going to start peeing in front of you!"

"Augh!" Brock yells, vacating the premises (but only because he knows that's what Ash wants.) It's only when he's outside that he realizes that he forgot to take the laundry bag with all his (dirty) shirts inside. Which means he'll have to wait here, shirtless, until Ash finishes up.

Ash. Ash, Ash, Ash. Five years, and Ash still acts like a ten-year old sometimes. No raging hormones driving him to every girl they meet; no sexual desires alone in the bathroom; nothing. It really drives Brock crazy. Maybe he absorbed Ash's puberty during their travels together, leaving the younger trainer an asexual prude and the older breeder a crazy sex-driven teenager.

Brock slumps down on his bunk bed. Yeah. That's probably it.

Not like it's really gotten them anywhere when it comes to girls, though.

Brock looks down at his tight abs, at the small treasure trail nestled between them. He follows the trail down to the button in his cargo shorts, about the same color as his tanned skin.

Nobody knows what's at the end of the treasure trail.

Brock unbuttons his shorts, revealing his boxers. He pulls the elastic away slowly, glancing at the paler skin underneath. The soft black hair of his treasure trail stands out much more clearly here, in the one area where the sun-kissed tan does not reach.

The treasure at the end of the trail… so far, Brock's the only one who's ever seen it.

Nope, not even Professor Ivy.

The toilet flushes, and almost immediately, Ash walks out of the bathroom. And stares.

Brock hurriedly zips up his pants and buttons his shorts. "Wash your hands!" he yelps. He hadn't taken off his boxers; Ash had only seen Brock peeking down his own pants. As if that wasn't awkward enough.

Ash's face burns red as he quickly ducks back into the bathroom. "I, um, whoa, I'm sorry, I, uh, forgot…"

Before Ash closes the door, though, Brock thinks he might have caught Ash peeking at him one last time, his gaze lingering.

Then the door slams shut and the water's running and Brock probably just imagined it.

* * *

_A/N: Anybody know that spicy food boosts Attack stats?_


	2. Chapter 2

Brock's being moody again.

He'd recently been shot down by a girl. Literally. She'd been so angry at him that she'd beaned him in the head with a rock, knocking him to the ground with a six-inch lump rising from his dark spikes of hair.

His friend has been pretty depressed after that, just lying on his bed with his shirt off and staring at the ceiling. As Ash commonly does, he pulls out a fistful of PokeDollars and lays them on the bedside table.

Brock doesn't even stir. He just keeps staring at the ceiling listlessly.

That when Ash knows that things are really, really bad. Brock not reacting to the prospect of comfort food? Brock not even trying to cook? He must really be down.

Ash has no idea what to do. Whenever Ash feels down, he just engages in a couple battles and makes new friends. When Brock's down, he usually cooks up a frenzy—enough to last them all week, especially when he thoughtfully adds preservatives.

So Brock, so broken that he doesn't even think about cooking… Ash's stumped. All he can do is stare at Brock's prone form cluelessly.

Though while he's staring, Ash takes a moment to admire his friend's body. Rock hard muscles stand in relief on his tanned body. Everything's so outlined. Brock could totally be a model or something! His physical appearance alone could send Contest audiences into crazed passions, as long as he used Pokemon with Tough moves.

But then again, Brock also knows a LOT about Pokemon. He doesn't even need a Pokedex to look up information; he already knows what usual characteristics, natures, and abilities each species has, off the top of his spiky head. So Brock could totally win in the Smart Contest too.

And then, there's Brock's personality: a kind guy with a soft spot for breeding and raising baby Pokemon. Brock just knows how to care for even the smallest, weakest babies. Despite his tough exterior, Brock is really a softie at heart.

So why don't all the girls Brock falls for ever see the same things Ash sees in Brock?

Every girl Brock's ever seen never thinks about him twice. Nobody really takes him seriously, even if Brock is completely serious—not Misty, not Max, and especially not his own Croagunk. After all, the guy's pretty old. Seventeen? Eighteen? Ash isn't sure why Brock has stuck around when most guys his age would be traveling alone and doing whatever they want.

Maybe it's because they've been together for five years. Maybe it's because they know each other so well, they're almost like brothers. Maybe Brock just likes supporting tons of people and Pokemon (and cooking amazing food). Either way, Ash is so grateful that Brock has always been there by his side.

And it breaks his heart to see Brock's broken attitude.

"Is there anything I can do for you?" Ash murmurs, sitting on his bed on the other side of their shared PokeCenter room. The last rays of sunlight stream in through the window, casting everything in a burnt orange light. It looks like everything's on fire: the whitewashed walls, the creaky beds, Brock's tanned body.

Brock shakes his head. Ash lets out a mental sigh of relief; for a moment, he'd thought that Brock might be in a coma or something.

A quiet minute later, Brock laughs softly. "No, Ash. Nothing you would do."

"Oh yeah?" Ash retorts. "What couldn't I do?" He jumps up and poses in what he considers to be an epic stance. "I'm going to be the world's greatest Pokemon master! There's nothing I can't do!"

Brock laughs again, and Ash grins. It's a good thing, to see his friend show some emotion after a near hour of dead silence. "Trust me, you don't want to do it," Brock mutters.

Ash never backs down to a challenge. "Oh yeah?" he counters. "I'm pretty sure I do."

"You don't even know what it is!"

"Whatever it is, I can do it!"

"Okay, so you probably could do it," Brock admits, and Ash glows in triumph. "But that doesn't mean you'd want to do it. I'm pretty sure you wouldn't want to."

"Yeah, whatever," Ash scoffs. "Just tell me what it is and I'll do it for you. Right here, right now. I'll do it." He grins proudly, folding his arms and beaming. There's no way he'll back down now.

Brock finally turns his head away from the ceiling, looking into Ash's eyes. Ash is a little shocked to see the change of expression on the tanned teenager's face; even though his eyes are constantly squinted, something about his expression… Ash can't place it. "I really doubt it," Brock says again. "You won't."

"You keep telling me that but you won't tell me what it is!" Ash whines, walking up to stand right in front of Brock. "Just tell me already and I'll show you right now that I will."

Brock's eyebrows rise. (His eyelids don't. Ash swears that he's never seen his friend's pupils.) The older teenager pushes himself up, slinging his legs off the bed and sitting on the mattress. Ash steps out of his bubble, but Brock suddenly wraps his hand around Ash's wrist and draws him back in. Ash starts feeling a little uncomfortable. Wait, what_ was_ Brock talking about? What does he think Ash doesn't want to do?

It doesn't matter, Ash quickly snaps at the annoying voice in his head. Brock said that Ash wouldn't want to do something that would really help Brock, and by all means, Ash intends to do it. It doesn't matter whatever it is; Ash _will_ help his best friend.

Plus, Brock just made it a challenge, and Ash won't give up to it. He'll do it no matter what, because he's going to be the greatest master in the world!

"Are you 100% sure?" Brock breathes, his voice rough.

That little nagging voice in the back of Ash's mind won't shut up, but Ash plasters on a cocky grin and says, "Of course I am."

"Take off your clothes," Brock whispers quietly.

Ash isn't sure that he heard him. Brock wants him to… "What?"

"See? I told you." Brock turns away from Ash, pulling his legs back up on the mattress. Without thinking, Ash scoots in between Brock's wide back and the bed, preventing him from lying down again.

"Wait! I seriously didn't hear you," Ash protests. "What did you want me to do?"

Brock turns to Ash and looks at him for a long moment. He apparently sees the truth in the younger boy's eyes, because he takes Ash's hand and guides it to his own crotch. Ash barely resists the urge to pull his hand away in disgust; everybody keeps their privates to themselves! …Well, at least everybody except for the people who really like each other, like you see in the movies all the time.

So that's it. None of the girls Brock has liked likes him back, so Brock is looking at other people now. Like guys.

You see in the movies all the time that guys usually like girls, but Ash's mom told him that guys can like guys too. Like Ash's dad. And Simon, Ash's neighbor when they were both eight.

So Brock… likes him? And he just wants somebody to comfort him.

So of course Brock would turn to Ash. They've been traveling together for so long; they're so close to each other. Of course Brock would turn to Ash when he needed to most help.

Ash decides right then and there that he _will_ do it. He's still not too sure what Brock wants specifically, but Ash will do it for him. For his best friend.

Ash pulls his hand away from Brock's crotch, just long enough to shed his jacket and take off his shirt; his cap topples to the floor, but Ash doesn't scoop it back up, letting his long spikes fly free. He then puts his hand right back into Brock's crotch and looks at his friend's face expectantly.

Brock looks speechless. After a moment, he says, "Are you really sure?"

Ash goes back to his memory of movies and makes the first move. He leans forward, closes his eyes slowly, and kisses Brock on the lips.

It's a weird feeling, having a pair of soft lips on his. His mom kissed him on the top of his head sometimes, but that's nothing like the full-on movie kiss.

And… whoa. Something's growing inside Brock's pants. Ash can feel the bulge pushing against his hand, so he pushes back. Brock gasps, his lips right next to Ash's. The moan is loud, so close to Ash's ears.

"Ash," Brock whispers throatily, leaning into the kiss. He's leaning so much, in fact, that he's pushing Ash down onto the bed. With one hand rubbing Brock's erection, Ash can only prop himself up with the other arm—but not for long. Brock gets up onto his knees and continues to push Ash down, and eventually Ash just collapses onto his back, Brock straddling him.

Ash still feels uncomfortable being so close, but Brock said that he needs this. He needs this help, and Ash is the best person to provide it to him. "Brock," Ash says back, just because Brock said his name. Brock's tanned body glows in the sunset, and, with their bodies so close, Ash can see every feature standing out. He's always admired how muscled Brock was—the strength he had to help his Pokemon push heavy boulders out of the way, or carry huge bags of groceries that Ash couldn't even try to lift. With one finger, Ash traces the outline of Brock's pectoral muscles, from the armpit to the center of Brock's chest, up his sternum to his throat. His finger weaves its way down the broad chest muscle again before swirling around the erect, hard nipple. Brock groans, and Ash retraces his steps, flicking his finger against the nipple.

"Oh," Brock gasps. "Ah… uh… Ash…"

Ash brings up his other hand and plays with Brock's other dark nipple—a small but hard nub, like a pebble on a stone ledge. Brock's entire body jerks when Ash twists both nipples, and the bed squeaks loudly. "Ugh," Brock grunts, his entire body collapsing onto Ash's. Ash gasps as his air is momentarily knocked out of him; Brock is heavy. But the weight of his friend directly on top of him allows Ash to _feel_ every contour of his friend's body, especially now that the sun has set and the room grows rapidly dark.

Brock's lips are on his again, but this is no longer soft contact. Brock's lips work against his and Ash finds himself doing the same, moving his lips roughly against Brock's. Then Brock begins to force his tongue into Ash's mouth. It's really weird—a hot, wet, slippery thing sliding around his mouth, coming into contact with his own tongue. Ash opens his mouth wider and lets out a little groan similar to Brock's as Brock's hands thread their way through his long jet black spikes. The tongue lashes against the inside of his mouth, almost threatening to choke him, so Ash fights back. He pushes his own tongue into Brock's mouth; again, it's a weird feeling, but this time for different reasons. Brock's mouth is hot and his teeth are lumpy and irregular and Ash can feel the saliva sloshing around inside, feeling it through his tongue. It's a very new experience.

Ash lets his hands wander down Brock's back; even behind here, Ash can feel the movement of muscles as Brock shifts around. His shoulder blades jut out, acting like handles that Ash can cling to. When Ash's hands drift down to the small of Brock's back, he can feel muscles slipping underneath tanned skin. He can feel every inhalation and exhalation of Brock's lungs. Ash hesitates just briefly, but then he lets his hands drift even lower, fingers flicking against the waist of Brock's cargo shorts.

Brock freezes.

Ash shrinks back. "I'm sorry," he says.

Brock's voice rumbles low, hoarse. "Do you want to?"

Does he want to… what? Ash isn't really sure. Ash thought that this was it—that this, lying on the bed with Brock on top of him—was what Brock wanted. Brock just wanted to kiss somebody. That's what people who like each other do, right?

But… but maybe Brock wants to do what the movie characters do when the screen goes black. It starts off with them kissing and touching each other… then they take off their clothes and get into bed… and then the screen goes black, and seconds later they're lying next to each other smiling like very happy people.

Is that what Brock wants to do? Whatever happens during the darkness?

"I want to," Ash responds, not with a lot of conviction. Kissing was already a lot. Was there more?

Brock looks down at Ash for a long moment before tracing his finger down Ash's chest, much like Ash had done before. But this time, Brock's finger just goes straight down to his belly button, and then even further, down the thin line of short, soft hairs. Further and further… the finger stops right at Ash's pants button before traveling back up, and Ash feels a little electric tingle zap through his body, a feeling he's never, _ever_ felt before. It makes Ash choke on his own breath, he gasps so fast. "Oh!"

Brock smiles, just slightly. "Do you know what this is called?" His finger runs down again, bouncing off the barrier of Ash's jeans before continuing back up. Ash moans again as the electric current passes from Brock's finger to Ash's abdomen.

"I… ah! I don't kno-oh!" Ash whimpers.

"This is the treasure trail," Brock murmurs softly, his finger traveling back down. "And guess where it leads to?" His finger continues over the pants barrier, stopping right above his crotch. Ash gasps as his penis suddenly inflates. Whenever it happened before, Ash felt like it was annoying and just wanted it to go away. But with Brock rubbing gentle circles on it through his jeans, Ash feels like his brain is going wild.

"Oh, oh, oh Brock, I, ee…" Even when Brock takes his hand off Ash's crotch, that warm, light feeling lingers around a little before ebbing away. "Brooock," Ash pants. "What… what…"

Brock's hands are undoing the button of Ash's jeans, and Ash willingly lifts his hips to help Brock slide the pants off. Anything if it means that strange, high feeling again. Ash is left in his black boxers, his erection tenting quite obviously. Brock leans down, putting his lips right next to Ash's ear, and whispers, "Now you find my treasure."

Brock's hot breath washing over his ear momentarily renders Ash senseless. He's almost naked yet he isn't cold at all; Brock's hot body is just inches away, caging him in and keeping him warm. In the darkness, Ash can only see the outline of Brock's body above him, but he runs his finger from Brock's sternum down to his belly button, finding the beginning of the soft treasure trail there. He follows it down to the pants button and, with one hand, rubs against Brock's erection, and with the other, unbuttons Brock's shorts. Ash hooks his thumbs around the waist and pulls the shorts down and off Brock's butt; Brock shuffles his knees, kicking the clothing to the floor.

"I found it," Ash says, his entire body tingling. He feels like he's going to explode. Any moment now.

"Not yet," Brock slurs roughly. "Not yet you haven't."

_Take off your clothes._

Ash slips his fingers underneath the elastic band of Brock's boxers, his skin resting directly on top of Brock's hot flesh. Slowly, Ash lets his hands drift down Brock's thighs, pulling the loose clothing with them. He avoids anywhere close to the butt, swiveling his palms around to the waist, then the outer legs, until Brock's clothing is bunched around his knees. Brock kicks this off as well.

"You've found it," Brock moans into Ash's ear. "You're the first one to find my treasure."

His hand rests against Ash's boxers, and Ash lifts his hips, expecting Brock to pull the boxers off as well. Brock doesn't do this, however; his fingers dig their way through the slit, widening it into a hole. Then he lowers himself directly on top of Ash, inserting his cock through the hole and rubbing it up against Ash's own cock. Ash pants as Brock's rod slides past his—it's long and wide and as hard as the rest of his body. Rock hard, but with the slight suppleness of flesh.

They're just resting on top of each other: Brock's muscled body above Ash's softer one, their members throbbing right next to each other. Brock stares straight into Ash's eyes; both of them pant heavily.

Brock leans down and kisses Ash as he begins to thrust. The entire length of Brock's thick, hard rod runs roughly against Ash's crotch, almost reaching his treasure trail, before slowly pulling back down to Ash's own member. Brock pauses, his cock almost withdrawn from Ash's boxer slit, before he rams back in violently.

The sudden friction on their members stimulates both to yell—Ash almost screams while Brock grunts, their voices bouncing off each other's ears. Waves of ecstasy roll over Ash's body. He's never felt anything like this before, because it never occurred to him to do this. In all his years traveling through four different regions, he's never thought about…

About s—

"Ah!" he screams as Brock shoves into him again; the friction is joined this time by Brock's balls slapping into his crotch, and the impact site sends tingles through his entire body. "Brock! Oh! Uh! Yes! Brock!" His cock is pulsing with blood, electric bolts keep racing through his abdomen, his legs won't stop twitching, he can't keep his hands from moving all over Brock's muscled back, and he can't stop gasping every single time Brock thrusts into him, over and over and over again. It's a glorious feeling; Ash feels like he's riding on waves of pleasure, like he's never going to come down. The bed keeps squeaking, Brock lets out rough grunts and moans and "Ash, Ash, uhm, Ash," and he keeps pounding Ash into the mattress.

Ash has never, ever felt this before, and it isn't soon before he feels his entire body contracting. It's like he's being wound around a tight pole, his body is focusing in on only one point: his crotch. His breathe drains away, the staccato barks blend into a continuous moan, and his vision focuses down to Brock's face before he sinks into white darkness.

Ash explodes.

He's barely aware of the liquid pulsing out of his erection. It's a new experience, a different thing—hot, thick liquid squirting out of him every time his body squeezes into that one special point. He realizes that he's screaming Brock's name and that Brock is still pounding into him, a frenzied thrust-pull-thrust-pull that almost becomes one singular motion.

Ash can feel every muscle tense up underneath Brock's skin; his erect nipples dig into Ash's chest and his hot breath washes over Ash's face and his testicles make a slap-slap-slap noise against Ash's shaft and their legs tangle together. Their moans blend into the groans of the cheap PokeCenter bed as it rocks back and forth in timing to Brock's continual thrusts. Brock's entire body suddenly goes rigid for a split second, and then sudden heat blossoms across Ash's torso as sticky fluid shoots straight up his treasure trail and spreads across his stomach. Brock's body goes limp, then draws together again—

This time, Brock's convulsion sends hot glue splattering on Ash's neck through the gap in their bodies. Brock continues to thump Ash into the mattress, but at a much slower speed as his explosions of sticky liquid become weaker.

And finally, it's over.

Brock rolls off Ash, an arm still slung across the younger boy. They both lie there for a quiet minute, staring up at the dark ceiling.

"Wow, Ash," Brock finally breathes. "That was amazing."

Ash's mind is still burning with euphoria. "That… that was…" He can't actually say anything. He's still speechless. Crazy hormones still rush through him and the only thing he can think of is _that felt so good_ and…

Ash wipes away the small fleck of warm liquid that made its way onto his face. "What is this stuff?" he asks Brock.

Brock's head swivels to face him. "You don't know?"

Really, Ash hadn't thought about any of this stuff until Brock took him through it. He never had the time; he was too focused on… well, becoming a Pokemon master.

And he still wants that. But he wouldn't mind this every once in a while.

Or every day.

"It's called semen," Brock says, onto his side and trailing a finger down Ash's chest through the semen. "And no, I'm not going to be the one to give you the Talk."

Ash feels little bolts of electricity arc through his abdomen; Brock's finger is right at the beginning of his treasure trail.

That's a treasure that Ash will keep on giving over and over again.


End file.
